


To Rest in the Warmest Places

by AuroraBorealia



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, F/M, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Gen, Gift Fic, Halamshiral, Multiple Inquisitors, POV Cullen Rutherford, Recursive Fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 16:32:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9770519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraBorealia/pseuds/AuroraBorealia
Summary: The Winter Palace is a battleground unlike any Cullen has experienced, only this time his fear is not for himself, but for the two Inquisitors who must brave the scheming and deceit - especially his dear lady. Cullen's point of view throughout the ball in Halamshiral ("Wicked Eyes and "Wicked Hearts"); Written as a tie-in to Lady Norbert's "All This Sh*t Is Twice As Weird".





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyNorbert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNorbert/gifts).
  * Inspired by [All This Sh*t is Twice as Weird](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9123769) by [LadyNorbert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNorbert/pseuds/LadyNorbert). 



> Hello everyone! So, if you would have seen me about three months ago, you would have seen someone who knew next to nothing about Dragon Age: Inquisition. And then my good friend Lady Norbert wrote her best friend Tk a Christmas gift fanfic called "All This Sh*t Is Twice As Weird" making both of their Inquisitors canon (if you want to read my little story, you really do have to read her story; besides, you should anyway, it's divine) and said I could read it if I wanted to. What happened next was what we called my "continuing education" as she gave me references and videos so I could understand what the heck I was reading. Pretty soon I was hopelessly unbelievably hooked and the rest, as they say, was history.
> 
> Then back in January, Lady Norbert and I started to roleplay some DA:I wish fulfillment awesomeness. It made sense for her to play the Inquisitor and since the entire idea of the roleplay was to have some fun romancing Cullen, I logically took up the mantel of playing him. Somehow, weirdly and wonderfully enough, he soon became "mine". When it came time for Lady Norbert to write the chapters for "Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts" in Tk's fic, she wanted to put a chapter in it from Cullen's POV, but couldn't justify it. "Write it just for us," I teased. "Or you could," she responded, citing the fact that I had written Cullen so much anyway. So I did. This is the result. If you ever wanted to see what happens when a girl who hasn't played Dragon Age a day in her life does a Dragon Age fanfiction, now's your chance!
> 
> A very special thanks to Lady Norbert for starting me on this path. This game has become immensely important to me in such a short amount of time, and I'm so grateful you infected me with this disease of joy as we like to call it. :) And, of course, thank you for squealing when you read this and for your invaluable proofreading skills to fix the travesty that was my grammar and formatting, as well as letting me borrow your girl Toria! And an enormous thanks to Tk as well, since I also borrowed your Mahanon! You two are awesome and I don't deserve you - and seriously, I can't thank you enough for the fact that you guys got me ALL THE GAMES. WHAT. Love you both. Furthermore, the scene where Cullen overhears the Orlesians talking about the Lady Inquisitor refusing all the dances was taken from some lovely fan art I saw, but sadly I do not know who drew it. If it was you or you know who did it, please let me know so I credit them for their amazingness!
> 
> And now, without any further ado, I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

Cullen supposed that Halamshiral was beautiful, but for now it seemed intimidating more than anything as he and the tiny Inquisition throng approached the gates. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, drawing himself up to full height as he walked.

“You’re marching,” said a voice next to him. After a minute he realized it was Cassandra.

“What?”

“The way you’re walking,” she explained. “Chin up, shoulders back – you’re marching.”

“I – I suppose you’re right,” he said with a nervous chuckle. He hadn’t realized it, but the rhythm of _left, right, left, right_ was unmistakable in his steps. “Just … nervous I suppose. I don’t like this.”

“The sooner we find this assassin the sooner we can get out of here…” Cassandra assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “…The sooner the _Inquisitors_ can get out of here,” she added, as if knowing his nervousness wasn’t just for himself. He nodded vaguely and tried to arrange his features into a facsimile of a smile as they entered the palace.

Their little group was a maskless red-clad line, making them more visible to the Orlesians than Cullen was comfortable with being. Of course, anyone traveling with the Inquisitors was bound to turn heads, but being _so_ markedly different just increased the unease of the whole event. It took everything in him to not tug at his stiff collar as he entered the palace with the others and waited to be presented to the Empress.

Empress Celene was an elegant woman, clad in a deep blue gown adorned with a metal attachment on the back that appeared almost like a sunburst. The mask she wore was silver and highly ornamental; the lights of the ballroom caught it and produced a shimmer which played off the whiteness of her hair. However, as he stood and waited to be presented, Cullen took almost no notice of her, nor of the other Orlesians sparkling in their finery. As the Grand Duke entered and was presented to the court, the herald’s voice rang out. “…And accompanying him - Lady Inquisitor Victoria Hope Trevelyan, daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick, and Lord Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan.” Cullen’s head immediately turned.

He had seen Victoria’s dress, of course, during the rather distracting fitting that took place on Vivienne’s balcony, but he hadn’t seen the full regalia and it stole the breath from his throat. In addition to the red-and-blue coat and skirt, her auburn hair was set in tumbling curls, adorned with a blue ribbon, and they bobbed enchantingly as she moved down the steps with Mahanon. The only accessory she had that Cullen did not like was the smile she wore. It was pleasant enough and very noble – after all, Vivienne had told her she needed to play the game and she was clearly doing just that – and she would doubtless charm the Orlesian court with it. But anyone who knew her could tell there was a forced quality to the smile which tried to hide her discomfort. He suddenly found himself wishing she was in her armor instead.

The court herald was continuing as Victoria and Mahanon came to a halt – “Shepherds and leashes of the wayward Order of Templars, purgers of the heretics from the ranks of the faithful! Champions of the blessed Andraste Herself!”

Cullen caught sight of Victoria glancing in his direction. “Did you see their faces?” he said quietly, hoping to soothe her. “Priceless.”

He stood watching her a moment longer, hating this whole “game” all the more when it meant she would have to flit about the ballroom and let people gawk at her. He was so distracted by this thought that he only dimly realized he was being heralded. “Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath, commander of the forces of the Inquisition, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall.” Forcing himself to move, he made his own way down to the ballroom, following Victoria and Mahanon carefully.

The presentation to the Empress went… about as well as one might expect. The Empress was, of course, deeply charming, her statements cautiously polite in that noble way that suggested finding everything vaguely interesting so as not to accidentally insult someone. Victoria and Mahanon managed to do the same; Cullen found himself growing more impressed with them by the minute as he too bowed to the Empress and then departed, retreating to a far wall where he could safely watch the proceedings.

Victoria and Mahanon were doing their level best to mingle, to make it seem like the Inquisition was merely there to attend a ball and not to unravel an assassination plot. For his part, Cullen was to play the dutiful commander, to provide the “mask” behind which the Inquisitors could hide. It meant he would have to play his own game, to adopt the same cautiously polite manner of speaking he had observed earlier. Anything less would be to shame the Inquisition, so with his stomach churning, he steeled himself for what came next. Rather unbidden, a verse from the Chant of Light entered his mind – _Dragons with wicked eyes and wicked hearts, on blackened wings does deceit take flight; the first of My children, lost to night._ Shuddering, he pushed the verse away. There would be deceit, of that he could be sure, but no one on their side would be lost to the night – not if he had anything to say about it. 

* * *

It was not long before Cullen’s solitary vigil was interrupted. He was lost in thought, losing sight of the Inquisitors and then finding them again as the two traced a wide circle of sorts around the palace, getting the lay of the land, coming upon each of their companions as they did so. He was too distracted to notice there was a woman eyeing him, her black eyes glinting behind a very elaborate feathered mask with a beak. She approached him and made him jump slightly as her voice cut through his reverie.

“Commander Rutherford?” She smiled, curtseying slightly. “May I get you a drink, _monsieur_?”

“No, thank you,” he replied, his tone amiable. “I appreciate it, but I _am_ on duty.”

The woman giggled at this. “Oh, my dear Commander, you’re not on duty here tonight, you are the Empress’s guest! This is a _ball_. Perhaps you’ll save a dance for me, yes?”

“I do apologize, Madam, but I’m not much for dancing. Thank you, though.” He forced a smile, praying to the Maker she could not see its falseness.

In the meantime, a man in a green mask seemed to take notice of Cullen’s presence as well, and likewise sauntered up. He studied Cullen for a moment, and Cullen inclined his head in respectful acknowledgement.

“So, commander of the Inquisition?” he drawled. “That must be a very lonely job.”

“I am content,” Cullen managed politely.

“Oh?” the man inquired. “Are you married, Commander?”

“Not yet,” Cullen responded, almost surprised that the thought tumbled out of his head so completely. “But I am … already taken.”

In spite of that statement, the man merely regarded him, a small grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “Still single then.” he decided, as if this fact was greatly pleasing to him.

Before he knew it, Cullen found himself the subject of much unwanted attention. At any given time, he was mobbed by no less than four Orlesians, men and women both. He was only dimly aware that some of them filtered out and were replaced by others, the only indicator being the fact that the masks in front of his face changed. Otherwise, it was an endless litany of much of the same – _You must save a dance for me, Commander; Commander, can I get you a drink?; You have such beautiful hair, Commander._ He answered each invitation to dance or get a drink with polite refusal, each compliment with a smile and a nod. It was beginning to grow tedious, he was starting to feel less and less at ease, but he supposed it was mostly harmless.

“Smile, Commander! You’re so handsome when you smile,” one of the women crooned.

“He’s just as handsome when he doesn’t,” a man at her side offered almost suggestively.

“I would love to hear about your time in Kirkwall, Commander,” a different man interjected before Cullen could reply to the first comment.

“Another time, perhaps,” he said with an apologetic smile that felt more like a grimace.

He shifted and nearly collided with another woman who was blinking at him with wide eyes. “Do you enjoy music, Commander?” she asked expectantly, inclining her head in the direction of the assembled orchestra, probably making a run up to asking him to dance.

“Everyone enjoys music, Madam,” he offered, trying not to sound too exasperated.

“You _must_ dance with me, Commander. You cannot stand about all evening,” said one of the men.

“I’m afraid not. Thank you.”

A tall woman in a gold mask took a step closer to him. “Commander, has anyone ever told you that you have the most remarkable eyes?”

“Several times this evening, actually,” Cullen sighed. A dull throbbing was beginning to form behind those remarkable eyes, and he forced himself not to reach up and rub his temples.

After a few more unpleasant minutes of banal chatter, Cullen looked up to see an extremely welcome sight – Victoria and Mahanon had drifted back into the vestibule directly across from him and Victoria caught his eye, giving him a nod. He almost laughed in relief as they began to walk in his direction.

“Ah, the Inquisitors. If you’ll excuse me,” Cullen said in a forcibly cheerful tone, extricating himself from the little tangle of Orlesians and coming to meet them. “Inquisitors, did you need something?”

“You’ve attracted a following,” Mahanon said, glancing towards the milling courtiers. “Who _are_ all these people?”

“I don’t know, but they won’t leave me alone!” Cullen sighed in exasperation, squirming uncomfortably.

“I don’t suppose you’ll save a dance for me?” Victoria offered.

“No, thank you.” Cullen intoned. Her face fell at once and terror seized him. “No! I didn’t mean to – Maker’s breath! I’ve answered that question so many times I’m rejecting it automatically.” He blanched, a bit embarrassed. “I’m not one for dancing. The Templars never attended balls.”

“Not enjoying the attention, then?” she asked.

“Hardly. Anyway, yours –“ he cleared his throat, taking a step forward to speak quietly to her. “ _Yours_ is the only attention worth having.”

The brightness of her eyes made Cullen stand a bit straighter. “We’ll talk later,” she said with a little smile.

“I await your signal,” he whispered, inclining his head slightly as Victoria and Mahanon drifted away again and he was once more forced to resign himself to the attentions of the Orlesians. _Maker, the sooner we track down this infiltrator the better._

* * *

Eventually, Mahanon disappeared to search for the Venatori collaborator, leaving Victoria to her task of “playing the game” with the nobles. Cullen watched her as best he could for as long as he could – not an easy task, given that he was almost instantly mobbed by his “admirers” once more and was forced back into the same old pattern. He was once again the center of a little circle of Orlesians who were somehow almost keener for having been interrupted by the Inquisitors.

After several more minutes, he miraculously found himself free for a moment, his captors’ attention diverted elsewhere. There was no hope of escape, of course, but at least he could breathe. A waiter drifted by with a tray of glasses and Cullen immediately snatched one, not knowing or caring what he was taking as he tossed the contents into his mouth. Just as quickly, he returned the empty glass to the tray before any of his Orlesian admirers could see and get the idea back in their heads that he was in need of a drink they could provide. Whatever it was he was swallowing, it burned all the way down, but that mattered very little; as he swallowed, he was finally able to catch some of the gossip around him rather than being a subject of it.

“Did you hear?” One woman was speaking to her friend in a low, gossipy tone. “The Lady Inquisitor has refused every dance tonight …”

“Oh!” her friend replied conspiratorially. “Do you think she is taken?”

“Quite possibly!” said the first and they both giggled.

For several moments, Cullen just blinked, smiling – his first genuine smile of the night. He realized now that for all he had seen Victoria milling about and speaking to this noble or that, it was true enough - he hadn’t seen her dance with anyone. He closed his eyes blissfully at that thought, a slight heat rising in his cheeks. _I owe her a dance when this is over,_ he thought to himself, choking the protesting thing in his mind that reminded him he could not dance. _I don’t care. When this is over, I’m asking her to dance. She deserves it._

He was noticed again, his moment of bliss over as the chatter began in earnest once more. He was beginning to squirm under this much scrutiny, growing steadily more displeased with being asked about his family or listening to thinly veiled double entendre. One woman in particular was uncomfortably close, attempting something like a coquettish grin.

“So, Commander, tell me … what do you desire from life? You must have dreams and desires separate from the Inquisition, don’t you?”

He coughed nervously, her words barbing in his head unexpectedly. _Desire. Tell me your desires._ He suddenly remembered those same words from so many years ago. They were old words, but they still swam inside his head, coming back to him at night – words, and the images that followed with them. Images of the tower and the cage and the things that were put into his head. _The sounds coming out from there… Oh, Maker…_ He tried not to outwardly cringe at the memory.

“Oh, touchy subject, Commander Cullen?” The woman laughed, oblivious to the deeper pain that must surely be registering in his eyes.

“More than you can possibly imagine, Madam,” he muttered grimly. Cullen forced himself to remember this woman hadn’t meant any harm. In fact, for all their lasciviousness, none of the Orlesians meant any harm really.

And then the touching began.

The first attempt came from a rather tipsy woman with a mask that appeared like a fox. Alcohol was clearly making her rash and as she talked excitedly, she leaned and tried to press her lips to his. He reared back abruptly, blinking at her in bewilderment.

“Madam, I don’t … I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he stammered, taking a step back in undisguised alarm.

She giggled and reached up to caress his mouth with her hand, her fingers just coming in contact with his scar when he jerked his head back. It was like with that one touch she opened the floodgates, as if her action somehow made it permissible for the rest of the little group to touch him too. While he was occupied with her, he felt a light swat across his backside, the type that almost would have been playful if done to a lover, but in this case it was decidedly unfriendly. Cullen hardly had time to react, when a second hand found his lower back, travelled downward, and squeezed. His previous discomfort was starting to become visceral panic.

“Did you just … grab my bottom?” he asked the open air, his mouth suddenly having gone very dry in complete shock.

“I couldn’t help myself,” explained a giggling woman who seemed quite frankly delighted with herself.

Her companion, a man in a gold mask, seemed likewise pleased. “I am a weak man,” he said with a shrug.

Cullen could almost forgive the drunk woman, but these two looked spectacularly sober, and that made the violation that much worse. As they laughed, Cullen found that he was actually _afraid_ this time around. He felt inclined to run, to shoulder his way out of the hall and retreat to some safe courtyard, but he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t move, couldn’t leave, could hardly protest without it seeming rude. He imagined for a moment how it would look if he suddenly balked. He had no way of knowing who was whom in this little retinue – any of these masked faces could be the conspirator they sought, or if not that, certainly someone who had the potential to bring the evening to a violent conclusion. His fear for himself morphed into fear for Victoria, alone and very exposed in the middle of the ballroom. If he, as commander of the Inquisition, showed any breach of conduct now, it would certainly not go unnoticed... and who else would pay for it but the Lady Inquisitor? The thought froze him even more to the spot than before.

“Oh, Gerald, you’re scaring the poor man,” one of the ladies tutted to the man who had grabbed Cullen.

“Mm. And yet somehow he’s even more handsome when he’s a little bit frightened,” said the man, and the ladies with him laughed.

Cullen gritted his teeth behind the hard line of his mouth and ordered himself not to move. He felt like an animal in a trap – no, what he felt like was the trapped Templar in the magic cage all those years ago. He had spent too much of his life not being able to move, not being able to control his own destiny; it was agony and it was still going on. But for Victoria’s sake, he would do it. Even if he found himself desperately wishing he didn’t have to as he sank into the mire of his own unpleasant memories…

“Commander!”

It took Cullen a moment to realize a voice was calling out to him and that the voice belonged to Victoria. It took everything he had not to lunge forward to reach her.

“Lady Inquisitor? Did you need something?” he replied, forcing his tone to stay level. _Sweet Maker and Andraste, **please** need something, anything, I will do **anything**._

“Please excuse us for a moment, but Lady Montilyet needs to have a word with the commander and myself.” She smiled that forced smile at the crowd. With a groan of disappointment, the Orlesians freed him and he ordered himself not to run after Victoria as she drifted away.

“I – what does Josephine want?” he murmured, as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Probably the same thing we all want – for this to be over,” she said with a sigh. “She didn’t send me. I just couldn’t leave you there another moment.”

“Maker’s breath,” The relief washed over him at once and his shoulders began to untense. “ _Thank you_.”

“I can’t fault them for admiring you. Andraste knows, I do it enough myself. But they had no right to _touch_ you – are you all right?” The concern in her eyes meant the world to him.

“A little shaken,” he managed. “It reminded me of – well – a time I don’t care to recall.” She didn’t need to be burdened with those details right now. “I’m sure they meant no real harm, but it was jarring. I’ve told them repeatedly that I’m not married but I _am_ taken. They refuse to take a hint.”

The smile that lit her face made the entire ordeal worth it. “I’ve had to turn down my share of dance offers too. I wish we didn’t have to hide – but I can’t bear the thought of someone possibly hurting you to get to me.”

“Hurt me? No, they’d have to kill me to get to you,” he said, his gaze like steel. After a moment, though, he softened. “Trust me, though … I’d be more disappointed if we had nothing to hide.” They shared a smile at that.

“You should be safe enough for a little while… if need be, slip out to the courtyard and hide behind Dorian.” She chuckled, turning. “I’d better get back out there.”

“Of course. I…” For a moment he was frozen. Her curls swayed as she indicated the fray with her head, and he worried his lip a bit, shyly watching her. “I haven’t had the chance to say so, but… you look lovely.”

“Words I have never heard in my life,” she said as she turned to face him again, a smile gracing her features. “I’m very happy that you’re the one to say them. Thank you.”

He smiled at her as she departed and rather belatedly said “You’re welcome” in a breathless voice that sounded nothing like his own. The thought that she had never heard anyone call her “lovely” before made him a bit sad, and he had to quash the sudden mad desire to run through the palace, telling anyone who would listen just how lovely he thought she was. He suddenly wanted to enfold her in his arms and tell her she was lovely a thousand times until the words lived in her mind forever, or to grab her hand and run from the palace to permanent safety. But he needed to keep his wits about him – after all, running to safety was not an option the world was willing to offer right now. This was part of the fight to make it happen and he would have to do his part. He forced himself back in the direction of the hall, sustaining himself with the thought of the day when he could take her hand and be safe with her truly.

* * *

Cullen’s next rescuer was an unexpected one – Cole. The spirit-boy drifted into view so quickly, it was almost easy to think he had been standing at hand the whole time, even though Cullen was fairly certain he hadn’t been. As Cullen was on his way back into the fray, he heard the gently musical voice calling out to him.

“Cole?” he asked in slight surprise, diverting his steps to meet the boy. “Is something the matter?”

Cole’s covered eyes were downcast and he tilted his head to the side almost quizzically. “You are afraid,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

It had long since become an accepted fact within the Inquisition that Cole mysteriously knew these things, so Cullen knew it was foolish to deny it. “Yes, I am afraid.” He nodded.

Cole turned to face the ballroom briefly before turning back to Cullen. “And she is worried.”

“Who is? Victoria?”

Cole nodded. “She worries for you and for her brother who is not a brother – worries while she weaves words and whispers to the faces on top of faces.”

“Did she tell you this?” Cullen asked.

Cole shook his head and plowed on. “But the worry makes the work worth it; her strength comes from you standing so near. She would rather have you here so she can worry than be here alone. You make her braver.”

In spite of himself, Cullen felt a smile creeping onto his face. “Thank you, Cole, for telling me,” he said, drawing himself up a bit proudly. If his presence made Victoria feel safe or brave or strong, then he would stand there for the rest of his life if it was required of him.

“I can’t help the faces with faces,” Cole replied solemnly as way of an explanation. “But I can help you.” And with that, he disappeared once more.

So with Cole’s encouragement ringing in his ears, Cullen resumed his post and watched Victoria mill about, waiting for Mahanon. He could feel her rising distress as clearly as his own as they waited for the Lord Inquisitor’s return. It was a distress that was not helped when some of the gossip around him turned into quiet mutterings about some sort of bloody falderal that had apparently occurred in the servants’ quarters. After several minutes Mahanon finally came into view, looking battle-worn and weary – but intact – as he caught up with Victoria. Whatever had happened in his search for the collaborator, it had obviously taken its toll, and he parted from Victoria’s company with the greatest reluctance.

Mahanon made a quick circuit around the ballroom, obviously letting people see him and thus quell their questions. But before he could leave again, he was intercepted by none other than Grand Duchess Florianne, the Duke’s sister. As the Lord Inquisitor was shepherded off to dance with the Duchess, Cullen recognized the look that flickered in the elf’s green eyes – it was the same look of discomfort Cullen himself had worn as he was mobbed by the Orlesians.

As the two moved in tandem, Cullen found himself thinking that what he was watching seemed less like the two unlikely partners were exchanging dance steps and more like they were trading parries. It was vaguely unsettling, like watching two hands slide pieces across a war table, silently plotting, anticipating, trying to read the other opponent in the hopes of exploiting a weakness or discovering where it was best to send troops. He remembered what Vivienne had said when they were still preparing this assault – that Orlesian ballrooms were battlegrounds. He was beginning to see what she meant.

By the time the dance was over, the entire crowd had parted like a river diverted by a boulder, forming a tight circle around the pair. As soon as Mahanon was free, he practically stumbled to where Cullen, Victoria, Leliana, and Josephine stood, and immediately put a hand on his counterpart’s shoulder as if he would collapse (physically or mentally) without her support to steady him. Cullen was once again reminded of the rumor he had heard about fighting and said as much, his chest tightening at the Lord Inquisitor’s grim nod. The tightness only increased as Mahanon described some of what had gone on and it became increasingly more apparent that this attack was happening and happening soon. Cullen listened to the discussions that began flying around with a sense of gravity.

“If Gaspard is guilty, he’ll _admit_ nothing,” he offered at last. “If he’s innocent, he _knows_ nothing. We need the truth.”

The truth, apparently, was guarded by a mercenary captain – but this information came from the Grand Duchess and thus seemed dubious at best. Victoria verbalized what Cullen imagined was everyone’s concern when she suggested it could be a trap.

“Then I guess I’d better go find out, hadn’t I?” Mahanon said tersely. “Josephine, get me access to the royal wing.” He turned to face Cullen and his eyes lit up with meaning. “Cullen, get your soldiers into position. And look after _ma da’vhenan_.”

Cullen knew from the tone of his voice what he meant. _Look after **her**. _ Victoria had told him that Mahanon’s term of endearment for her was like saying _little sister_ in the elven language. Mahanon had singled him out for this task because Cullen was the one person in the room who cared about Victoria just as much as the Lord Inquisitor himself did.

“At once,” Cullen said, answering the order, but the nod he gave answered the personal request. He remembered Cole’s words. _Her strength comes from you standing so near. You make her braver._ And he remembered his own vow that he would be there for her no matter what. He hoped that the nod would convey the unspoken promise he was thinking in response – _Always._

* * *

As Mahanon departed once more, Cullen left his previous spot in order to post his soldiers strategically throughout the palace. Perhaps, if Mahanon and his small group of companions were successful up front, there would be no need for this action. But something in the pit of Cullen’s stomach said this would not be so easy. The first indication that his disquieting hunch would likely prove true came sooner than he would have imagined. As he was returning to his previous post, he was nearly barreled over by an elven serving girl, who had evidently dashed half the length of the Winter Palace in order to find him.

“Are you Commander Cullen?” she demanded in a feverish, breathless whisper.

Cullen had grown accustomed to answering that question ad nauseam throughout the night, but this time around, the terror on the girl’s face made it a very different experience. “I am,” he said, a note of alarm creeping into his tone. “What’s this about?”

“Oh, thank the Creators!” she cried when she realized she had found her objective, then broke off into what he assumed was the elven language, perhaps some sort of prayer. After a moment, she continued. “He told me to find you -  the Lord Inquisitor. He said you could protect me.”

“From what?” he asked, eyes wide as he listened to her relate her story about the Harlequin attacker that surely would have killed her if not for Mahanon’s timely interference. The terrified girl pointed the finger at Ambassador Briala. _So is it Briala we’re looking for?_

With her story finished, Cullen assured the girl that all would be well and found one of the newly-posted guards to be her protector before drifting back to find Victoria. He could see her pretending to study the artwork around the ballroom, but he knew, if they were thinking at all alike, that she was really keeping an eye on the Empress. He suddenly became very aware of his own unarmed state and realized how naked it was making him feel. He stared in his lady’s direction for several minutes, feeling as if his heart would hammer out of his chest from sheer terror and anxiety. This was always his least favorite part of combat – the endless stretches of waiting as one’s body was pulled taut like a string, always on alert for a death blow that might never come. Just when he felt certain he would explode if he had to withstand any more of this unbearable waiting game, he vaguely saw a shape materialize nearby and realized it was Mahanon.

The elf was still clad in his armor, panting heavily, when Cullen approached and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “It’s Florianne,” Mahanon said simply. “She’s with Corypheus.”

Cullen needed no other explanation or proof. He clenched his jaw and beckoned towards a small group of soldiers. As they arrived, he spun back to face Mahanon. “She’s with the Empress as we speak,” he replied, his voice quavering slightly. The voice of the Empress rang out, echoing slightly throughout the sprawling ballroom, and he and Mahanon struggled to be heard (yet not overheard) in the middle of the din.

“Well, we’ll have to get to her, then.” Mahanon gave him a curt nod, and with that he disappeared into the crowd.

Cullen understood the unspoken order and signaled for his small band of soldiers to approach where the Empress stood. The rest, he noted, were standing at the ready, watching from their own places amongst the sea of Orlesian masks. He was only vaguely aware of the Empress’s speech, or the applauding crowd, or the scarlet streaks that represented the rest of the Inquisition stationed nearby. Even with all the noise and the impenetrable crowd, somehow this moment still felt like the silent moment right before a battle, when the world somehow emptied of all sound and all color in preparation for the slaughter. The thought sent a chill up his spine and before he knew what he was doing, he shouldered his way into a nearby hallway, his eyes darting around for something – anything – that could be used as a weapon.

At last, his prayers were answered and he found a display of swords, hanging on the wall as part of an elaborate coat of arms. He wrenched the metal plaque where they were embedded off the wall and it clattered to the ground with such a noise he was shocked the entire palace didn’t materialize to see what had happened; he supposed that maybe the applause had covered his tracks. He pulled the swords from the discarded coat of arms in two fluid movements, stowing them in his belt as he hurried back to the main ballroom. He had just enough time to melt into the crowd when he caught sight of Grand Duchess Florianne … and the glint of something in her hand.

“Grand Duchess, stand down!” Mahanon suddenly bellowed, materializing from the crowd as Florianne began to advance on the Empress.

At once, the Inquisition soldiers appeared in order to protect Celene and subdue Florianne, but the wicked glinting that Cullen had spotted in her hand flashed quickly and he watched helplessly as the balcony ran red with the blood of his soldiers.

“Now!” the Grand Duchess screamed, and at her command several Harlequins sprang from the crowd.

They were disturbing warriors to say the least, their faces painted into hideous red sneers and their clothing almost childishly garish even as they brandished their swords and daggers. As they appeared and drew their evil-looking weapons, the ballroom exploded into chaos as people began to understand what they were seeing. Everything became a confused mass of terror and desperation as courtiers fled in all directions.

“For Corypheus – kill them all!” Florianne called again and fled, with Mahanon and his band rushing after her. Desperation seized Cullen as well, and he found himself frantically trying to reach Victoria, losing sight of her as he pushed through the stampede of the horror-struck ball guests.

At last he made his way out of the crowd and saw her. One of the Harlequins had her cornered, ready to bury a dagger in her heart. He tried to call out to her, but found his throat had closed. Instead, he became dimly aware of his own feet racing forward and the sound of his hand drawing the blade he had confiscated from the wall. He was there like lightning, and with a yell slammed the pommel of the sword against the Harlequin’s artificially white temple. The warrior fell to the ground limply and Cullen felt his voice jump back into his throat as he looked into Victoria’s wide, surprised eyes.

“Lady Inquisitor! Are you all right?” he asked, moving toward her.

“I’m fine… where did you – _how_ did you –“ In another instance, her shock would have been amusing.

Realizing that she was indeed unscathed caused a relief like no other to seep through every part of Cullen’s body. He explained where he had acquired his borrowed weapon, a very small smile creeping onto his face as he did so. He drew the other sword and tossed it to her, feeling at last like they were both complete again with weapons in their hands.

He didn’t have long to stand there, however, for at that moment Mahanon dashed by, nearly a blur as he, Cassandra, Solas, and Bull chased down the rest of the Harlequins.

“Cullen, protect the people!” Mahanon ordered as he came into view and just as quickly was gone again.

“Yes, Lord Inquisitor!” Cullen shouted back in acknowledgement. He glanced at Victoria and together they rushed to the doors, throwing their weight against them to close them with a deafening slam. Their task complete, he immediately fell in next to her and they pressed their backs together in solidarity. Just being near her was enough to pour strength back into him and he raised his sword with a nod to her. Together, they set off across the ballroom to try and restore order to the chaos that had rent the evening apart.

The task was not an easy one. The sight of the bloody corpses of the Inquisition soldiers who had been cut down in the conflict lodged in Cullen’s chest, each body pricking him with guilt and anger. Meanwhile, Victoria still looked deeply shaken, and Cullen pressed closer to her as if to support her trembling body with his own. Empress Celene had been spirited away by the Inquisition soldiers, and Gaspard detained by Imperial guards while the battle raged against his traitorous sister. However, after several unbearably tense minutes, Mahanon and his group all but fell back into the ballroom, evidently exhausted, but victorious. Victoria dropped her sword at once and rushed to embrace her counterpart.

“It’s all right, Tor. It’s over now,” Cullen could just hear Mahanon say and loath though Cullen was to tell them, he knew better.

There was still the matter of the Duke’s potential treachery in the whole affair and how the Empress would move forward after these horrendous events. He parted from Victoria with what he hoped was an encouraging smile, nodding to her as she and Mahanon retreated to the balcony to discuss the future with the Empress, Briala, and Gaspard.

They were out there for a while, during which time Cullen watched as the dead soldiers were carried from the ballroom by their comrades and order was somewhat restored under the careful watch of himself and the others. At last, Celene finally returned to the room, Briala, Victoria, and Mahanon flanking her. Cullen turned to watch them, as did the crowd that had once again assembled, but the news of the future of Orlais met his ears only dimly. Instead he watched Victoria survey the crowd, looking slightly pleased – but more than likely just relieved it was all over. He felt much the same way.

* * *

Somehow, it seemed, the Orlesians were able to pretend like nothing had happened and went back to business as usual. Cullen found it a bit disturbing to dwell on the blasé atmosphere of their continued laughing and chatting, so with his duty to uphold the Inquisition “mask” fulfilled, he excused himself from the crowd and drifted off to find Victoria. He hadn’t seen her since the Empress’s speech, but while many people were asking after her, his curiosity to find her outstripped them all.

At last, he came across her leaning against the balcony railing. It occurred to him that there was a very real possibility that this moment might never have come and he suddenly felt very grateful – he would thank Andraste for this in person as soon as they got back to Skyhold, he decided.

“There you are, everyone’s been looking for you,” he said, walking towards her. She looked done in and he longed to embrace her. “Things have calmed down for the moment. Are you all right?”

“I’m just worn out,” she admitted, turning to look at him as he too leaned against the rail. “Tonight has been … very long.”

“For all of us,” he agreed. “I’m glad it’s over.”

She paused for a beat and Cullen wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was – that it was all far from over. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. She reached up to gently touch his fingers and the gesture freed his tongue.

“I know it’s foolish, but I was worried for you tonight,” he said earnestly. After a moment, his attention was diverted by the sound of music and laughter from within the palace and he was reminded of what he had decided earlier in the evening. “I may never have another chance like this so… I must ask.” He took a step back, smiling slightly as she regarded him with surprised amusement. With a little bow, he extended his hand. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

Victoria’s features set themselves into a genuine smile. “Of course,” she said brightly, taking his hand. “I thought you didn’t dance.”

“For you,” he said with a faint chuckle, “I’ll try.”

He began to guide her through what was probably the worst dance of all time, but she looked delighted, so that was all that mattered. His steps were awkward, unsteady, uncertain, but he ignored the impulse to watch his feet and instead looked to her, his face lighting into a smile, a smile which she returned. As they moved, he found himself transfixed on her grey eyes, just as he had been when they first met. He remembered staring at her then just as he was now – but back then she was a stranger, and now she was so much more. Now, as he held her close, pulling her in as they moved, he felt the impulse to never let her go. _Oh Maker, just run away with me now_ , he thought in bliss. _Run away with me or marry me or just lie with me somewhere and promise we never have to get up ever again._ Strange; he had never felt the call of such an impulse before, and yet now it filled every fiber of his being... all he wanted was to be with her.

Rather suddenly, he remembered the Chant of Light verse that had entered his head at the start of the evening, the grim verse that had cut him to the core, the one that he had pushed away in order to do his duty. He realized now it had been swallowed up by a new verse – _Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Make me to rest in the warmest places._ It filled his brain and his body with light, and he repeated it several times until the prayer that had been Andraste’s became his own prayer too. He hadn’t ever expected this to find him – hadn’t ever expected _her_ to find him – and yet here she was in his arms, her head gently resting on his shoulder as they swayed.

He had a feeling, as he looked at her, that his prayer had already been answered.


End file.
